A Friend and A Brother
by MooseOnARoof
Summary: A series of connected drabbles focusing on Wilson and House as the funeral of Danny Wilson takes place. Hopefully I'll post a one every couple of days. Dunno where I am going with it but hopefully it'll go somewhere good. H/W. Rated K for now :
1. Chapter 1

_A/N...A series of connected drabbles focusing on Wilson and House as the funeral of __Danny Wilson takes place. Hopefully I'll post a one every couple of days. Dunno where I am going with it but hopefully it'll go somewhere good :)  
_

_Enjoy peeps :D_

_(I don't own them in case you were wondering)_

* * *

He should have seen it coming.

Strike that. He _did _see it coming.

He saw it coming the day the doctors told him that Danny wasn't taking his medication.

He saw it coming the day Danny ran away leaving a family beset by worry and guilt behind.

He saw it coming the day Danny was first diagnosed. He remembers the silence and the defeated, unblinking eyes of his parents as the doctors described the reasons behind their son's recent bizarre behaviour.

It was obvious to him even then that this family didn't have the tools to deal with such a thing.

And his assertion was to be proved right. Fifteen years later and Wilson's family was half of what it used to be after two deaths and one foul argument.

He found it sobering to think how one innocuous family could be so cruelly ripped apart at the seams.

Analysing and assigning blame wasn't an option but he couldn't help himself. It was hard-wired into his system. Like an ostrich having wings, it was a pointless and unnecessary accessory but one he couldn't get rid of no matter what.

In his mind this was his doing.

It wasn't Danny's fault. He didn't _choose_ to have schizophrenia.

It wasn't his father's fault. He did the best he could. He didn't _choose_ to be consumed with worry and consequently have a heart attack at the age of forty-nine.

It wasn't his mother's fault. She did the best she could. She didn't _choose _to be a widow or the parent of a missing child.

It wasn't his older brother's fault. He was never invested in Danny like Wilson was. Danny never turned to him for anything. Danny didn't trust him. Danny never invested in him. He didn't _choose_ to slam the phone down on his mentally ill brother.

Wilson did. His choice had created the stage for the events of the last fifteen years to play out on with his wives, friends and patients as bit-part players.

The choice had inevitably shaped the man he had become. The pain, the self-loathing, the fear and the guilt all born from one act of pure frustration.

He adjusted his tie in the mirror and patted down the stray hairs on the crown of his head. It was ten thirty according to the clock hanging on his wall. The funeral was at eleven thirty.

He straightened the creases out of his jacket before heading into the kitchen to make two cups of coffee. His mother was due any moment and the last thing he wanted was to be unprepared.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N Two drabbles this time. One for House and one for Wilson. _

_Enjoy._

* * *

**Concern**

**House**

What concerned him the most wasn't the morose face of his best friend staring into the middle distance. Nor was it the trembling hands he could see behind Wilson's back. Nor was it the frayed edges of his friend's normally pristine hair.

It wasn't any of those things.

The eyes.

It was the eyes of his best friend that concerned him the most. The eyes usually so full of emotion, whether it be anger, frustration or sadness, looked completely devoid of anything.

He glanced over and watched Wilson shuffle his feet on the damp grass.

He knew how much Wilson cared for his brother; how many days of searching and sleepless nights Wilson had undertaken just to find his brother. It didn't make any sense for Wilson _not _to be visibly upset.

He had seen Wilson at patient's funerals looking more emotionally involved.

Wilson's mother on the other hand was weeping enough for the both of them.

He watched closely as Wilson glanced at his mother before biting his bottom lip in a desperate attempt to quell his emotions.

Gently, he patted Wilson's shoulder hoping to comfort his friend or at least illicit an emotional response.

He got nothing as Wilson kept his gaze firmly towards the distant horizon.

* * *

**Deserving**

**Wilson**

He couldn't look down so he picked a building in the distance to focus his eyes on. As much as he wanted to gaze downwards at the simple pine box beneath to whisper his goodbyes, he couldn't.

He didn't deserve to have the option to say goodbye.

He squeezed his hands behind his back to quash the trembling sensation he could feel travelling throughout his body.

The gentle sobbing he could hear from his mother was getting to him but he knew that was a good thing.

To be comfortable was another thing he didn't deserve.

He couldn't reiterate to himself enough the fact that if it wasn't for him none of this would have happened.

A soft hand made its presence known on Wilson's right shoulder but still he did not move. He knew House was attempting to comfort him in a small way but he chose to ignore it.

He was undeserving of his best friend's reassurances and sympathy.

So he stood, staring blankly into the distance; undeserving of the ability to cry, to emote, to feel anything apart from sheer self-hatred and a numbing guilt that reverberated through his bones.

The service ended with a sharp closing of the Rabbi's book and the small group of mourners, House and Wilson included, made their way across the grass and back to their cars.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N Next bit....... blaaaahhh..._

_Enjoy as always :D  
_

* * *

**House**

His concern was enough to convince himself not to let Wilson drive them back to the apartment.

It was bad enough that Wilson looked dead on his feet. To let him behind the steering wheel of a car would just be idiotic.

Wilson and his mother had been drawn into the small group of people gathering in the parking lot who were dishing out their sympathies. A benign handshake here, a compassionate pat on the shoulder there.

He took Wilson's distraction as an opportunity to grasp the keys out for his friend's jacket pocket. So he gently hobbled behind the crowd, before whipping the Volvo keys out in one swift move. There was no way Wilson would have noticed that.

He was wrong.

Wilson span round, padding down his jacket. "Hey what are you doing?"

He waved the keys in the air. "I'm driving you home."

Wilson raised his eyebrow. "You hate driving my car." Wilson was right. He hated that damn Volvo with a passion. "It's okay. I can drive us back."

"I want to." It was an unconvincing response but it was the best he could produce.

"You _want_ to?" He could tell Wilson wasn't wholly convinced. But they held their gaze before Wilson finally relented and opened his palms. "Fine. But don't reset the radio. I hate it when you do that."

He quelled a smirk. That almost felt like an invitation to reset the radio to a heavy metal station like he did the last time. The look on Wilson's face when a Slayer song blasted through the speakers was priceless.

But after catching another glimpse of Wilson's darkened features he decided against it. Now wasn't really the time for pranks.

He retreated towards the car, leaving Wilson and his mother to say goodbye to the handful of attendees. Sitting in the driver's seat he adjusted the rear view mirror and watched as Wilson made his way back to the car with his mother in tow.

As a man usually so warm towards people, he was surprised to find Wilson seemingly unable to create the same warmth for his own mother. They hadn't spoke more than a few words to each other throughout the whole afternoon. There was just a collection sneaking half glances and sheepish smiles, mostly on Wilson's part.

He had only met Wilson's mother a handful of times and he rarely talked about her. House had assumed that with Wilson's job being what it is that he never really found the time to visit or call his mother. It had never crossed his mind that there could have been something more to it.

He saw them weave around the side of the car. He unlocked the back doors and turned on the ignition.

* * *

**Wilson**

He wanted so desperately to throw up.

The bile had been building most of the morning but now the stinging acidic sensation in the back of his throat was becoming overwhelming.

The way House was driving wasn't helping his cause either. If House insisted on continuing to skid around corners at too high a speed then he would have to think about a cleaning bill for the car upholstery.

He had no idea why House wanted to drive them back but he couldn't be bothered to argue the point.

_Let House have his fun then he will leave you be._

He glanced over his mother who was rummaging through her handbag for something.

Nothing. He had nothing to say to her. He didn't know where to begin.

_'Sorry mom for having a hand in your youngest son's death' _wasn't going to be a good place to start.

'_Sorry mom for bringing shame on you by being married and divorced three times. _That wasn't going to work either.

No matter what he will say she will always end up slinging mud.

The last time they spoke properly he informed her of his impending third divorce.

Then it started. She brought up Danny, his father, his marriages, the way he only calls on the holidays and her birthday, the lack of grandchildren. She branded him a failure and a philanderer before he slammed the phone down.

However desperately he wanted to talk to her, he didn't have the constitution to take another character assassination.

Instead, he turned his attentions towards the buildings rushing past the window, hoping the blur of colour would be somewhat therapeutic.

It wasn't.

He wanted so desperately to throw up.


End file.
